


i think we could do it if we tried, if only to say you're mine

by morganlicious



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Internalized Homophobia, Season/Series 01, are you - are you a gleek??? bitch i knew it!, but still gay. as a lil treat, letterman jacket tingz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:15:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24116395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganlicious/pseuds/morganlicious
Summary: “I’m not gay.” Quinn declares, unsure of this assessment herself. She finally registers what is refusing to leave once Quinn backed off - it was disappointment.“You’re not gay,” Rachel repeats, almost a scoff.
Relationships: Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray
Comments: 12
Kudos: 88





	i think we could do it if we tried, if only to say you're mine

**Author's Note:**

> canon divergence beginning at ep 1x02 (the disease spreads early)

The cold impact of the popular corn syrup never rests to dampen her mood drastically.

Teenage Neanderthals footballers sneer and snicker, congratulating themselves over this tedious action. Rachel rushes to her locker, scavenging her emergency kit, rushing past onlookers to commence her daily cleanup.

She exhales exasperatedly, slowly falling into autopilot. Door swing on impact, noise bounces in the barren bathroom stalls. She flicks a faucet, a stream of water steadily pour, lathering her blue-dyed mane, an assortment of shampoos and conditioners to achieve her original stature.

Metal scraps, she lifts her head to angle her eyes, a gentle seal begs for attention. She perceives a click; distinguishing a stoic Quinn Fabray.

Pause, squinting to ponder this recent development. She resumes, Quinn taking liberties to draw in closer, ceasing Rachel’s movements.

(“Eavesdropping much?” Quinn spits with venom, drip of a brow indicating an insult ready to burst.

Rachel, eyes tossing every nook and individual scratch embroidered on crimson, confiding her belongings to the flimsy metal. 

“He kissed me,” the taller girl's features gracefully deepened, Rachel swallows, watching her surroundings whittle of teenage bodies, “I told him he could if he wanted to, and he did.” 

Quinn’s arms muscles contracted, her jaw scrunching up, but Rachel presses on - ignorance would be at play if she declines to admit her school career is at risk of suicide, “It’s only right you should be informed, he’s your boyfriend after all.”

Silence - squirming under intense examination. She concurs they...weren’t best friends but despite Quinn’s and the rest of the Cheerios, she only awards them respect and admiration, especially to the girl standing in front of her.

She’d be a fool to deliver any contempt.

Expected jibes made no appearance - Quinn brushes past in lieu, muttering, former bite absent, “Just stay away, Berry.”

She happily obliged, striving to curve Finn away and focus on Mr. Shues needed attention to performance. Slowly, Glee Club winds down to a slow, comfortable crawl, many of the football players joining after Kurt's excellent, game-turning win for their very own Titians.

However, arriving quite early to a particular meeting, Kurt and Mercedes huddled around the piano, Tina, and Arite listening intently.

She learned after what Kurt affectionately called ‘Glee’s first scandal,’ the infamous head cheerleader and her equally infamous, doofus quarterback boyfriend officially been broken up.)

Shampoo oozes on paler hands, firmly mixing and planting on Rachel’s scalp, cautious to lather discoloration. Quinn flicks the valve, rushing cold water collides. She bites back a yelp, her ears ring to parse a faint whisper, Quinn expressing fleeting annoyance, “I warned them to knock it off.”

She acknowledges a pleasant sense courses her body, recent events be damned Quinn Fabray, formerly hellbent to uphold slushy laws and general harassment, was admonishing her assailants. Rendering her, or at least attempting to, invincible.

She also acknowledges a growing kink in her neck, but her lips dance, accustomed to delicate, slender fingers working her mane. Her vision must be failing her - she swears she identifies an uproot curve on Quinn’s lips.

Her hair flop, braising for liquids to coat, promptly securing her eyes from harsh chemicals. Apparently, she’s squirming, a revaluation succeeding music - Quinn’s chuckle, near giggle, “Stay still Berry.”

She obeys, concluding it’s best to keep her taller companion happy. Gentle hands guide her upwards - a second to grab a towel resting on the ceramic - friction between hair and cloth, her hair tucked away. The air hits her face once more, instinctively opening her eyes, blinking to Quinn’s burrowing to her, unfocus, landing to her lips several times.

(Relatively, a compressing few weeks glee returned to normalcy, save for Finn’s futile efforts to establish a relationship. 

She took Quinn’s warning to heart, she’s able to decipher her kindness during Glee and in the hallways, baffling ever Santana. Desire to continue along with this potential friendship, she purposely dodges an instant of irritation.

Quinn never rests to surprise her at demanding moments. Regionals are creeping behind the corner, Ms. Pillsbury overseeing the club's activities only heightens their hysteria.

Her fellow glee members rush to escape through the choir doors, Mercedes and Kurt taking time to say their goodbyes. She notices Quinn waiting, patiently she must add, nears the door, eyeing Rachel expectantly.

“We need to talk.” Quinn answers to an unspoken query. Rachel clutches her copy of the setlist, her brows tunneling.

“Why?” Her heart quickens, Quinn’s face twitches, eyes rolling, chafing.

“We need, to talk.” Quinn emphasizes, a ‘no’ will not suffice to derail her. Millions, billions truly, of actions the blonde might do only increase her apprehension; Rachel bends straight, signaling her agreement to follow her.

Quinn footing rotates, ponytail bobbing to her movement. Rachel trails behind, considering the distance between, both navigating around absentminded teens.

“Where are we going?” Rachel’s curiosity trumps patience, the cheerleader briefly turns her head left, eyeing her.

“Auditorium.”

Reaching their designation, it’s evident Quinn created no plans for this discussion. Deliberating - squeaks complimenting the auditorium acoustics; Rachel jumps at each pass Quinn takes, nostrils flaring during agonizing seconds Quinn wastes.

“Quinn,” Her outbursts shocks them both, the girl in question wild-eyed, “Unless you have something the utmost important to say I would like to get ahead of our set l -“

“He kissed you here, right?” Quinn interrupts, feet firmly planted. A blink, two perplexed.

“Yes but what does that -“

“At this exact spot?” Quinn’s quieter, nearly afraid of what she’s asking. However, she takes a few steps closer. Rachel shallows, instantly feeling small, vulnerable - she nods, unable to steer her eyes away from Quinn’s.

Slender fingers intertwined, child-like, gripping tightly. She detects a sense of fear, uneasiness radiating off Quinn, but Rachel, she’s unsure how to proceed. Should she walk away? Alarms ring in her head, claiming this to be the best settlement but her body declines; her heart drums, her brain fixating on the beats.

Quinn’s eyes flicker, pursing her lips, concluding on an action to take.

Lips on hers - essential to point out its chaste - but she cannot disregard the, the fireworks flashing, it’s overwhelming but she refuses to tear away. Her eyes shut, Quinn's hands break away hers, gentle to caress her forearms (goosebumps), her hands locking her face, closing more distance.

Her lips are soft, a stark difference from Finn’s rough, cracked lips, pushing quite forcefully onto hers. 

She couldn't resist her charms, swinging her arms around Quinn’s neck, exact instant Quinn backs out, trips her foot before regaining her balance.

She licks her lips, eyes darting around Rachel. Her fingers twitch, a foreign feeling (disgust? no, far from it) elopes her. She can feel her face downcast, crossing her arms over her small frame to recover her posture.

“I’m not gay.” Quinn declares, unsure of this assessment herself. She finally registers what is refusing to leave once Quinn backed off - it was disappointment.

Adversity - not what she would expect to feel about Quinn Fabray relating to interpersonal relationships, especially when it involves something short like a kiss. It’s planting its foot down, and she’s most inclined to not deter it, rather drive her to push the cheerleaders' buttons.

“You’re not gay,” Rachel repeats, almost a scoff. She steps, daring Quinn to assert her claim once more. It’s clearer now, Quinn’s bullying tactics, even the damn pornographic images tattered along the walls of every bathroom (anyone would truly be stupid to not realize it’s has Quinn written all over it).

It’s elementary, a safe aversion to a crush one might not understand.

“Rachel,” Quinn begins, catching herself using her first name, Rachel would be lying if she says she wasn’t elated in someway, “Please, don't tell anyone about this.” 

She shut her eyes, the kiss repeating in her mind, a tape rewinding. She…. she misses it. It was her second kiss, quickly formatting itself to be the only one she desires. 

However, she won’t get far now, certainly with her kissing perpetrator pleading, and it would injure any salvation to this situation if she proclaims her enjoyment.

“Okay, I won’t tell anyone.” Quinn’s eyes sparkle momentarily, mouthing a “thank you,” and making her escape, clearly overwhelmed by her own actions.

She leaves a distant Rachel, ruminating on what unlocked inside of her.)

Similar positions, history repeating; her hand locates Quinn’s, tucked under cotton, applying pressure. Quinn shrivers to her touch.

“You can kiss me again,” Rachel mutters, crinkles form on Quinn’s perfect face, “if you only want to.”

“I want to,” Quinn admits, nibbling on her lip. Desire? Rachel casts her gaze away, timid - calculating numerical probability equations to Quinn succumbing to her thirst. 

Upmomiental force of her head, thumbs delicately placed to assist. Giddy, permitting Quinn to lead, anticipating her lips on hers and being granted a state of reciprocation.

Energetic pounds burst them out of their daze of affection, Quinn springing backward; displeasure rushes in Rachel’s veins, planting her feet to reprimand the unlucky girl. 

“Q!” Santana Lopez’s voice encompasses their surroundings, Rachel’s blood runs below subzero, frantically glancing at Quinn, “What’s taking so long? You taking a shit in there or what?!”

“Give me second, Lopez!” Quinn sneers, straightening her posture, landing her formidable stare onto her. Soften crinkles, Rachel’s small - pardoning an obvious jest to her natural peak - fingers fiddling to rid dread.

“Where’re your clothes?” Quinn inquires, throttling Latina tangled tension presenting intensely. Her lips parts amazed - her emergency garments are customary, no one batting an eye at the change of color coordination or animal print. Quinn’s seeming notice only exemplifies Rachel’s theory that Quinn's interest in her extends longer than anticipated.

“I don’t have an endless array of clothes at my disposal. Quinn,” retaining her composure, she reaches over, creasing and packing her emergency items to prepare another day, a laugh escapes with no utter of thought. “I still need to wash them like everybody else.”

A low hum vibrates to indicate Quinn acquiesce - her skin shuddering under examination, resounding heart palpitations quickens. 

She’s refusing to make things easier, and Rachel’s unable to determine necessary actions.

For lack of better terminology, the ball is in Quinn’s court - Rachel, after much deliberation concluded she doesn’t mind the idea of involving herself with Quinn, taking their current circumstance as a grace from God.

It, of course, lies with Quinn. Staring at her reflection, distraught that another of her favorite sweaters ruined, Quinn fondly staring at the floor - wounding her heart at her plentiful expectations dangling over her reputation.

Girls like Quinn need structure, cautious motivations to survive the onslaught she's becoming comprehend greatly; no doubt her adamant assertions to rebuke the notion she’s gay is one under the terror of her family, why risk it all for a girl she’s, under unspoken hierarchy school laws, descent to hate?

Unsalted actions solidify a temporary response, so lost in deep interrogation, Quinn rests her Cheerios letterman on her shoulders, receiving a gentle hiccup out of Rachel. She assists in Quinn’s motion, sleeving her arms, fitting her quite snuggly.

Quinn tugs her collar forward, her eyes brimming affection, tender - Rachel feels her mouth spilt, inflaming on her cheeks. 

“It fits.” Quinn quietly remarks, her hands losing weight from her shoulders, hands squeezing hers, “Should help to cover up the stain.” 

Rachel nods, savoring her short time near Quinn. Santana’s fists connect metal, pronouncing her frustration, practically feeding off her energy to the environment.

“Move your ass Fabray, or you’ll be seeing those pearly gates earlier than you wanted!” Santana contempt expands at the final strike, grumbling what can be assumed to be various euphemisms she wishes to ignore.

Quinn corrects her posture, adjusting her ponytail to Sue Sylvester's mandated height. Her eyes give a once over, her features returning to defining mannerism, one no one would dare to peeve.

“If anyone asks,” steady, hands resting on hips, instructing her as if she’s one of her Cheerios, the switch of slight personality change does not go unnoticed, “Tell them it was for a favor, to one glee member to another.”

Pleased, her eyes crinkled to communicate a silent goodbye, striding out the tiny bathroom, unlocking and only opening to reveal herself, saving Rachel from Santana’s overbearing attitude. She hears questions of Quinn’s missing jacket, voices out of range to even her superior drums. 

She’s alone, PA system resounding to alert anyone in the facility lunch is in order, leaving Rachel allocates minutes to escape her quiet refuge. She inspects her own appearance, remarking how comfortable the jacket is. Reddish color once again arises; she’s secure, Quinn’s own spirit overlooking her.

One singular jacket cement it’s charms directly into her mind - she wonders what else Quinn Fabray has hidden in her sleeves, no pun intended.

-

Glee services potentially attest their excuse, nerves cautioning her. Her steps develop at a slower pace, Finn's potential reaction to this dawning on her. 

She receives quite an amount of curious stares. Cheerios and football players alike whisper to the meaning of a Cheerios outfit attaching to Rachel’s torso. Jacob corners her at their final period, encouraging her to disclose who’s jacket this belongs to but she politely declines, cherishing her open secret intimately.

Delightfully, she shares no core curricular classing with her Glee associates, saving her what would’ve been a bombardment of questions requiring clarification, a feat saved for a lasting hour.

She’s utterly convinced Quinn’s had shared her own of interrogations - she’s higher stature. If the head cheerleaders' clothing mysteriously vanishes, it’s an instant buzz among those unwilling to let things be.

She’s quite shocked no one connected the two conspicuous dots - it’s worth it, nevertheless. Second to last period, securing her belongings from her personal locker, sensing probing eyes caustic her skin, prickling her head’s back hairs.

Whirling her head to pinpoint the origin of the intrusive stare, identifying Quinn as her culprit - noticeably penetrating midst bodies overwhelming corridors. Locking eye lines, regardless of Quinn’s lengthy separation, Rachel perceives the Cheerios immediate dismantlement - tumbling her safeguards to expose slivers of authenticity. She’s certain she alone possesses a privilege over others; she bathes in it.

Quinn’s facial structure twitches, obfuscating half of her face, utilizing the swinging metal sheet to achieve this feat. Corner of her lip clutches to a dimple, resolving to a tender smile, teasing Rachel’s heart to extreme levels, gouging her muscles. She’s inclined to belittle her trusting nature; intimate insecurities trickle doubts.

Quinn demolishes her prevalent negativity in one singular motion - mouthing, ‘Hi,’ disguising, flicking her wrist to illustrate their connection passing bodies aren’t authorized to witness.

Rachel soars. Unconsciously lifting her hand, swaying to communicate her responding greeting, lips pirouetting. 

Regarding Quinn’s expanded beam, teeth brimming skin - she rewarded implicit answers. 

Further actions corroborate her findings; Glee, particularly Finn’s cumbersome caliber, buzzing, circling her self-imposed seat, insisting she surrenders her secrecy and expose the jacket’s owner.

Unholy Trinity systemic entering hushes her fellow members, machine whirling in each brain to finally join incriminating evidence bestowed all day; Santana’s once over and scoffing encompasses general conclusions.

Quinn ignores their gapes, Santana displeased dins bounces off her armor, tactfully guiding them to their professed locations.

Quinn dazzles her; clear, orderly, “Berry,” pivots Rachel’s attention to her, Quinn minuscule nod towards a conveniently vacant chair placed by her right. Rachel’s not one to disappoint - rising and relocating to place her orbit near Quinn’s. Mr. Shue's appearance and effort to undertake Glee activities extinguish increasing inquiries.

Quinn’s territory etches, imperious to a point Finn wouldn't oppose. 

She discovers - restlessness engulfing her nerves to interrupt Mr. Shue’s abysmal proposals - Quinn’s hand approaching hers, linking one singular pinky to another, jolting, electrifying her heart to surge.

Rachel nestles inside the letterman’s warmth, squeezing her pinky, corner lips tugging, complimenting Quinn’s satisfied lips.

**Author's Note:**

> songs to listen to: 
> 
> sofia - clario  
> gengish khan - miike snow  
> jenny - studio killers  
> aubergine - lady lamb


End file.
